


Overwatch Tales

by Lewdsmokesoldier



Series: Genji/Angela [10]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dom/sub, F/M, FaceFucking, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Impregnation, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Masturbation, Muscles, Oral Sex, Sweat, Tags are gonna get out of control so expect this to get truncated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2019-10-18 10:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17579483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lewdsmokesoldier/pseuds/Lewdsmokesoldier
Summary: A collection of smut stories set in the Overwatch universe. These are meant to be true to the game's characters and settings wherever possible.Individual tags and pairings are listed in each chapter or chapter title.





	1. Back to Black (Moira/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira O’Deorain has a great many interns like you at her disposal, being the Minister of Genetics for the whole of Oasis. You two just happen to be in a special arrangement that involves having sex in her office.
> 
> (Moira/Reader, Lipstick, Handjobs, Facefucking)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting off a new series! This is for shorter(ish) Overwatch stories. Will combine reader/character and in-game ships, but I'll try to focus on the latter.
> 
> If you want to see more, I've got a [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmokesoldi1) and [ Hentai Foundry](http://www.hentai-foundry.com/user/Lewdsmokesoldier/profile).

“...Minister?” You query, hands gripping the edge of the desk as you shift on your heels, her fingers deftly working to unbutton your shirt. You’d entered Minister Moira O’Deorain’s office, ostensibly to discuss your internship path but fully aware that she’d be looking forward to another one of your “private experimental sessions”, especially once you noticed her lipstick. She only ever wore elaborate color when you and her were about to go through this again. Now, the cinnamon-haired geneticist was leaning forward, angular nose brushing against your own as she pursed her mouth and whispered a reply.  
  
“Please. Call me Moira.” She opens her mouth to let her tongue slowly glide over her top teeth, her breath hot on your face as you try to contain your arousal, a bulge already prominent in your trousers. You weren’t doing a very good job. “We’ve done this enough times. Shouldn’t we be past such base formalities, at least in this space?”  
  
“...Certainly, Minister. I mean, um, Miz Moira. Moira.” You stutter, eyes darting from her jet-black lips to the crawl of her tongue against her teeth to the freckles dusting her face to the long, dual-colored nails on her hands. Her left were painted a bright, comforting gold, the other a disquieting purple, and they traced the edge of your jaw, down to your clavicle, opening your shirt before going further down until her gold-nailed fingers were on your waist.  
  
You gasp, but before you can speak she slips her mouth against yours and your exhale turns into a hum. Her right hand grasps the side of your face, pushing you slightly away as her tongue darts forward to tangle with your own. You’re flushed now, feeling her suck and nip at your tongue, her skin brightening beneath her freckles, mismatched eyes locked on your even as you fail to return the favor.  
  
With a sharp intake of breath, you separate, Moira chuckling as she pats your cheek. “Don’t get too riled up now. Wouldn’t want you missing...” She punctuates the beat with a tug down on your belt, pulling your pants to the ground: she’d been using her free hand to undo your belt buckle while you were sucking each other’s faces. The cold hit your thighs like a splash of water, and you clenched your jaw beneath her fingers as you tried to keep your knees from buckling. Moira’s hand on your boxers certainly helped as she gave you a long, slow like along the opposite side of your chin. “...The best part.”  
  
“Never, Moira.” You force the words out from between your lips, smudged with her lipstick, the effort born of sudden cold and restraint rather than discomfort. Moira gave your cheek one final pat with her purple-nailed hand before sliding down into a squat, trailing kisses down your chest and stomach, leaving a path of night-black lipstick marks on your skin. At last, her nose bumped against your pelvis while her right hand joined the one already near your underclothes. Feigning shock, she looked up at you and hooked her fingers into the waist of your boxers.  
  
“We can’t have this, can we?”  
  
“N...no, Moira. We certainly can’t.” Your stumbling words and quavering voice gave off the impression of fear, but you were most definitely not frightened of Moira: you’d done this too much to be scared of a little teasing.  
  
“Then let’s get this off, hm?” Without waiting for your reply, she tightens her grip on your boxers and pulls down, the undergarments bunching up with your pants around your ankles. As expected, you had had plenty of time to stiffen up as you’d imagined what Moira had planned for you, and your cockhead shot upward and brushed the tip of Moira’s nose. The way her face scrunched in response, as if she’d merely taken a bite of an unappetizing meal rather than gotten smacked in the face by the dick she was about to suck, would have seemed almost comical were you not aware of just how well she was able to work your shaft. “Ahem, poor choice of words, given that I’m about to 'get you off'.”  
  
You let yourself release a throaty, closed-mouth laugh at her words as you step out of your discarded clothing, your length bobbing and jutting as you moved, slipping and pressing all over Moira’s face: her nose, her cheeks, even her eyebrow and forehead felt the folded skin of your dick rub against them. She took it all with no complaint, no protest, merely smiling up at you.  
  
“If you’re quite finished, I’ve got a cock to get to work on.” Moira brought her right hand back up, wrapping it around the base of your shaft, squeezing lightly as her left hand took your nut between her index and thumb, rolling the orb between her fingers. You bite your tongue, trying to avoid distracting her as she lowers her head and lets your right ball slip between her lips.  
  
You’re leaning your head back, hands balled into fists, brow furrowed in concentration as her tongue flicks and rolls over the folds of your scrotum. Try as you might, you can’t bear to look down at her, afraid that you’ll let loose if you see her face beneath your balls, freckled cheeks bulging with your testicle. Sensing your discomfort, you feel Moira chuckle around your nut and you gasp, the vibrations rocking along your shaft and pelvis as she pulls her mouth off with a pop.  
  
“Stay in control. It wouldn’t do for you to end this now. Especially with what I have planned.” She emphasizes her point with a stroke up towards the tip of your cock with her right hand, then a squeeze as she encloses her lips around your cockhead, her fingers pressing against her mouth.  
  
Your hands uncurl of their own accord, fingers flailing and drumming against her desk, the sensation of her hot tongue curling against the overhang of your cockhead leaving you seeing stars. There’s a vacuum pressure in Moira’s sucking, and it only gets more powerful as she lowers her mouth onto your length, your dick slipping deeper into her throat until you can feel her teeth grazing the base of your shaft, and finally get the courage to look down as she withdraws, dragging her teeth and lips over your cock as she does so.  
  
Moira’s obsidian lipstick has smeared all over your length and nutsack, the kiss marks blurring into long, sweeping drags of color on your skin in contrast to the visible, distinct smooches on your chest and stomach. Noticing your stare, Moira tilts her head up to better meet your eyes with her dual-colored gaze, letting the top of your rod rest just between her lips as her tongue flicks out to swipe over your urethra, her left hand cradling both your nuts.  
  
Your grip comes down to rest in her hair, and she gives you a thumbs-up with the hand wrapped around the bottom of your cock. Tentatively, you thrust forward, hearing her sputter and groan while you push gently into her mouth. She seems unbothered by your pace, so you overcompensate and pull her onto your dick as you jab your hips forward. Moira’s eyes widen and she gags powerfully, but she doesn’t complain and doesn’t resist as you saw your cock in and out of her mouth, hips rolling forward with enough force to make your balls slap against her chin even with her hands still on them. Moira’s gagging and clamping lips are sending massive vibrations rolling up your shaft, even as your nuts bounce in her hands, eager to inseminate her mouth. And all the while, her lipstick keeps wiping off against your skin, leaving a trail of the path of her thin, plush cock-suckers.  
  
It’s too much. You want to warn her, to pull out, to give her some dignity in all this, but that same indignity you’re inflicting upon her in this small way is exactly what you need to cum. The fact that she doesn’t mind certainly helps you chase the pleasure heralding your orgasm. Your hips and waist become a flurry of motion, intent on releasing the trigger locking your cum from spewing from your cock into her mouth, and the thought of her freckled cheeks ballooning with your seed is what springs the trap.  
  
You wrap your fingers in Moira’s hair, withdraw until just the head of your shaft is in her mouth, and cum, feeling your balls twitch in her grasp as she breathes forcefully through her nostrils and strokes the length of your dick not between her lips. Your nut surges up and into her, painting her tongue and cheeks white and her teeth even whiter, bulging out her cheeks with its copious volume. The thought that she’s tasting the whole hot, salty load lets you unleash a few more spurts, a powerful shudder echoing through your body as you feel the warmth of your own pent-up seed against your cockhead.  
  
Your wrists ache, and you realize you’ve been grabbing at Moira’s hair too tightly. Grinning sheepishly, you loosen your hold and let her raise her mouth fully off of your dick. You’re surprised that she doesn’t cough, what with how thoroughly you rutted into her mouth and throat, but that’s your Moira. Always stoic, even under pressure...or following a round of facefucking. With a mighty gulp and a sigh, Moira sucks down the cum you pumped into her, wiping off some drool and loose semen with an outstretched finger, rubbing it onto your thigh.

  
“Well, that was something special. Now you can spend the next hour or so, perhaps longer, beneath my desk, eating me out, until you can get hard again. Refractory periods are something that I’ve been working to address, but none of my treatments are ready for trial yet.”  
  
You gulp, both out of nervousness at the possibility of being confined to her office for so long, your mouth, tongue and lips working Moira’s slit and puckered anal star...and anticipation at the very same possibility.  
  
At least you didn’t have any more classes today.


	2. Cold Blooded, Check it and See (Widowmaker/Reaper)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Widowmaker and Reaper have a steady thing going. She has difficulty feeling pleasure outside of situations involving pain: that’s part of her conditioning. Reaper helps her address it by domming the hell out of her.
> 
>  
> 
> (Widowmaker/Reaper. Dom/Sub, dirty talk, aftercare, fluff. [Follows this story.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17618927))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, I recycled the cover image from the last story).

“What are you?”  
  
The whisper tugged at her eardrums. If she’d been capable of disquiet, Widowmaker would have shuddered and recoiled from the voice, its echoes lingering far longer than any murmur should. But instead, she only felt herself itching to respond, to prompt _more_.  
  
“ _Un salope._ ” She hissed through her teeth, arms folded in front of her on the edge of her windowsill, her ass jutting out for Reaper to partake of, a hold ripped in her suit to give him access. Her cheeks were full and round, the pale blue of the waters of the Seine as the first beams of light peeked down through the gaps between buildings on the riverside.  
  
At least, that was their _usual_ color. Now they were approaching a shade of purple, the result of her partner’s repeated, full-force slaps against her buttocks, the darker pinpoints marks of where his fingers had dug into her rear end.  
  
“Damn straight.” Reaper let out a dark chuckle, rolling the sound in his throat before escalating it into a single cackle. His pants were in a pile around his ankles, prick jabbing into Widowmaker’s cunt with all the force he could muster. He was slamming his pelvis against her upturned backside so hard that he didn’t even need to spank her to watch her butt quake and shudder against him. He smacked her ass more for the pain he knew she craved, and the power those actions gave him over her. Reaper was treating Widowmaker extra roughly not because he _needed_ to, but because he _could_. That she loved it certainly helped him justify his behavior.  
  
Grunting and groaning, he splayed his left hand and pressed it against the small of her back, his right flying back and forth to let loose ringing strikes on Widowmaker’s jiggling, now-purple ass cheeks. “And don’t you _ever_ forget it. You’re so eager to pump me dry that I almost wonder if I should refrain from fucking you, just to see how you react.”  
  
“Don’t you _fucking_ dare.” Widowmaker’s gritted teeth would have indicated frustration at her situation if she hadn’t developed a pattern of feeling perfectly satisfied with this sort of treatment. Subjecting herself to Reaper’s aggression helped her push past the blocks to her pleasure that she was now bound to, and she’d gotten addicted to chasing the highs she felt from interplaying sex with violence, communication with degradation, exchanges with insults. Something about being a part of something so _raw_ , so visceral was giving her a loophole to feeling again, and she’d exploit it however she damn well could.  
  
It was a good thing she kept up her stellar mission performance: if she’d started to slip, to devote herself wholly to this sort of play, Talon might take away the only consistent source of pleasure she could find.  
  
“Do you have any other reason to be here, other than to be a hole for me to fuck? A pussy to wrap around my dick? An ass to ogle and hit?” Reaper emphasized each vulgarity with a particularly powerful thrust of his hips, his dick pounding deeper inside and against her every time. He was pumping himself hard and fast, balls slapping against her hood, the dull _thud, thud thud_ a pleasure in and of itself, to say nothing of the effect of such a heavy sack smacking her clit.  
  
Widowmaker knew his words were part of their game. Like the slaps and the rough, carelessly rapid pace of his fucking, it would be gone when their time was up. It didn’t leave whatever space they’d elected to carry this out in. They were professionals.  
  
...But that didn’t mean that Reaper’s words didn’t carry a hint of truth. For the briefest of moments, the idea of literally being nothing but a tool for Reaper to dump cum into when he wanted, and ignore when he didn’t, _excited_ Widowmaker more than she’d ever admit.  
  
“ _Merde, merde, merde!_ ” She cried out, clenching her hands into fists as her breasts pressed into her forearms from the force of Reaper laying into her from behind. She was losing control, the stinging and aching from her slap-kissed rear blending with the degrading thoughts into a cocktail of pleasure, a cloud of submission helped along by how well he was spearing her on his cock.  
  
“Say it! Widowmaker, if you make me wait, I swear…”  
  
“ _Oui! Oui! Je voudrais votre bite! Votre foutre! Tout-suite!_ ” She cried out, a high whine building in her throat as the admission pushed her over the edge. Even the most debasing, slutty-sounding phrase she’d heard herself speak sounded romantic in the language of love, and that contrast made her orgasm all the better. She came _hard_ , cunt fluttering in orgasmic contractions around Reaper’s dick even as his breath rattled in his throat and he held himself in deep, pumping up as much cum into her as his balls were willing to give up. His hand on her back clenched into a fist, while he sank his fingers into whatever he could grab of her right ass cheek.  
  
Widowmaker was breathing as heavily as she could, feeling Reaper start to slump. His shoulders hunched and he managed to avoid draping himself over her back, instead pulling out with a squelching sound and moving his hands off of her body, watching his load seep out from between Widowmaker’s puffy, well-fucked cunt lips.  
  
“Hey.” His voice took on a softer tone, one that Widowmaker knew heralded the end of their particular dynamic. He reached a hand out and stroked the back of her neck, and she awkwardly managed to turn herself over to let him palm her cheek. The gesture was as close to affectionate as they got, minus when they cuddled.  
  
Although neither would admit to _ever_ doing that.  
  
“You did good.” Reaper spoke without sneer or snideness, his voice as genuine as it could be, echoing and fading in and out from behind his mask. His gloved thumb caressed her cheek, and she marveled at the way he was able to shift from violent dominance to something approaching softness.  
  
How well might _she_ play that part? The thought emboldened other ideas. What, exactly, might exchanging roles feel like?  
  
“ _Mon cher_.” She began, and Reaper’s touch faltered on her face. “I think I’d like to try something different next time, if you’re willing to experiment.”


	3. Krämpaj (Reader/Brigitte)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brigitte’s stalwart, sharp as a razor and built like a brick house. She could easily lift you up and toss you about. That’s part of why she’s so damn cute when she’s taking your dick like the champ she is.
> 
> (Reader/Brigitte. Praise Kink, Sweat, Muscles, Pure Cinnamon Sexing, Impregnation Risk.
> 
> This is extremely self-indulgent)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I love Brigitte please forgive this extremely self-serving chapter.

* * *

She stepped away from the sparring ring, panting and wiping her brow, flail and shield heavy on her arms. Reinhardt had put her through her paces and given her the rest of the evening off after an excellent and very bruising session. It was time for her to head home.  
  
“Home”, in this case, meant the residence the two of you shared in Stockholm. Your work usually let you get back first, on the nights Brigitte wasn’t off on some adventure with her mentor and not planning to return for some time. She fumbled for her key and found the door unlatched: you must’ve already been here for some time.  
  
“Hey, _älskling_ , I’m back!”  
  
You look up from your book, a smile already spreading across your features as you place it to the side. “How was training today?”  
  
“Oh, you know,” She begins, letting her armaments fall to the floor, “How it always is. Reinhardt and I hit each other, I patch him up. And so on. Useful and fun, but taxing. I’m beat.”  
  
She massages her elbows through her armor, cricking her neck and sighing. Even with her plate on, you can’t help but marvel at the curves and muscle you know are underneath, and how absolutely _adorable_ she is coated in sweat and grime. It’s not fair of you to think about this when she’s so exhausted, but, well, she’s _Brigitte_. No one would blame you.  
  
“ _Hjärtat_ , you’re staring.” Brigitte quirks an eyebrow and you blink, shaking off the reverie.   
  
“Wuh?”  
  
A peal of laughter rings out from her and your head _thuds_ in your chest. How did you luck out so, to be in a relationship with Brigitte Lindholm? Few things could compare.  
  
“It’s okay. I remember what you said.”  
  
“It’s still true. You’re prettiest when I remember who you are, what you do.” You raise a hand to brush her cheek, thumb rubbing against the sweat and armor polish scattered across her cheek. Her freckled cheeks flush crimson, and she playfully pushes you away.  
  
“Nah, you’re just buttering me up. I see what you’re doing.”  
  
“It’s not flattery if it’s true. You’re a fighter and a builder, Brigitte. And there’s _nothing_ hotter than seeing you fresh off of fighting _or_ building.”  
  
Brigitte’s resting her hands on her armored hips now, eyes twinkling with mischief. “All right, _sötis_. Tell me about that.”  
  
Warmth rises in your stomach...and your crotch. It was going to be one of _those_ times. You’d done this before. Well, then. Few things made you happier than letting your girlfriend know how much she meant to you, and just how she made you feel. This would be fun.  
  
“Well, let’s see. Right now, you’re worn out, sweating and tagged with forge grease and ash. I know you’ve been using your hands, Brigitte, building and testing and improving, and few things are more of a turn-on than being reminded of how capable your fingers are and where you learned to use them.” You start off strong. No need to hold back the compliments when you know it’s all honest. As you speak, you smile and pat her shoulder, and Brigitte kneels, face sweaty and sooty and red with exertion.  
  
Joy shines from her smile and soft, almond-shaped eyes, the amber irises reflecting her fulfillment at your words. She doesn't say anything, merely nuzzling her face into your crotch and purring like the cats she loves so much. Falling back into your chair, you keep your hand on her armored shoulder and don't make her wait, pushing down the waistline of your jeans and bringing your boxers with them, your length flopping out to bop her on her freckled nose. She squeals, and a your dick twitches on her face. She's so fucking cute.  
  
“Your mind is a wonder, but that’s just your creative aspect, Brigitte. You’re also a fighter, a protector. You’re fast enough to dart to where you need to be, even under all that armor. That would tire you out if you were anything less than the perfectly conditioned athlete that you are.” As you speak, Brigitte hums and gives you a long, slow lick from balls to tip. Your voice quavers, but you keep talking even when she flutters her eyelashes up at you and encloses her lips around the head of your cock.   
  
“Y-you’re strong enough to knock me, knock someone twice my height and weight off their feet and keep going. That’s _really fucking hot_. You could slam me into the wall and I’d whimper and ask for more.” You take a breath as she descends, her mouth impossibly hot even as she breathes heavily onto your dick, teeth gliding against the surface of your shaft. One of her hands, enclosed in the metallic gauntlet of her armor, comes up to roll your balls between the thumb and forefinger, and you can barely keep your words going.  
  
“But I know you’d never do that, Brigitte. Because you’re kind and caring and the joy of everyone you meet. I’ve never met anyone so happy to help, so eager to please, in all the best ways. I didn’t even have to ask you to suck me, Brigitte. You did it on your own.”  
  
She laughs at that, then, and the vibrations around your dick are almost enough to get you off. You clench her shoulder, moving your other hand up to her hair, tangling your fingers in her red-brown locks.  
  
“I _always_ look forward to when I see you after a good workout, a good sweat. When you’re tired and aching and stained with oil and soot, that’s the hottest, the most beautiful you ever are.” Brigitte’s working you slowly, taking your cock as deep as she can, her nostrils pressing against your pubic hair. She's gotten good at this. And you can feel the effects of her gentle, encouraging, praise-driven blowjob bringing you to a finish.   
  
“You’re all of this and more. My gloriously muscled goddess, Brigitte Lindholm. You’re brilliant and persistent and courageous and inventive and I’m so, so proud of you.”  
  
You tap her head in warning, and she stays with her mouth firmly planted on your dick as you splatter her throat, sighing as the pressure eases and the heat in your groin fades to a calm warmth. Brigitte pulls off your dick with a popping sound, a string of cum escaping from between her lips to connect with the tip of your dick. Smiling, she  gulps, displays her open mouth, and plants a kiss on the head of your cock, beads of saliva and sweat scattered across her freckles alongside the ash and armor lubricant.   
  
Batting her eyelashes up at you, Brigitte leans forward to let you rest your spitshined dick on her face, breathing deeply as she buries her nose in your scrotum.  You lean back in your chair, hands releasing from her shoulders and head until she coughs for your attention. She moves away from your nuts and sticks out her tongue, expression _begging_ for more. More of your cock on her face, in her mouth, maybe even between her legs.  
  
Who are you to refuse her? You feel yourself stiffen up again, slowly, and Brigitte’s face lights up.  
  
She's so _fucking_ cute.  
  
Getting her out of her armor is the best part. The plate peels off in section, and each time some of the outer layer is removed, you get hit with the full force of her sweat-soaked undershirt. There’s something about the salt and _musk_ of her sweat that’s heady, and your nose lingers on the wet fabric and any exposed skin you can find as you help her undress.  
  
When it’s done and you’ve peeled away the clothes that have stuck to her skin and lingered on some particularly perspiration-prone parts of her (she giggles when you take a long, deep drag of her underarms as you hug her waist tightly, herself patting you on the head with her opposite hand), you can’t stop yourself from pulling your own clothing off to bear her down to the floor.  
  
There’s a time for soft, sweet, clean sex in your bed, with quiet murmurings and gentle touches. That’s not what either of you want right now. You want the sweat, the grime and grease, the heat and force of freshly-exercised Brigitte under you, and she’s more than willing to surrender to that as you position yourself atop her.  
  
She's digging her fingers into the skin of your shoulder blades, hugging you close as you slide into her, watching her stretch and squirm beneath the force of your thrusts. Brigitte's biceps, muscular and taunt and powerful, are enclosing all around you, holding you as tightly as her pussy's wrapped around you. You try to kiss her, but your lip slides forward and your tongue drags up her cheek instead. You don't mind, planting hard, fierce pecks onto her nose and eyebrows, hips and thighs aching as you move. You're in her, you can't stop moving, you can't leave the embrace of her arms or her cunt, and you wouldn't want to if you could.  
  
One of your thumbs awkwardly slips away from its spot on her tit to flick at the hood of her lower lips, fingers brushing against the cinnamon-red hair rubbing against your length each time you bottom out. She cries out, swearing in Swedish, and you grin as droplets of sweat splash against her forehead from your chin. Powerful thighs clamp down on your waist and you almost can't breathe, but even more than that, you're certain that she's hugging you tighter and wetter and hotter than you could have dreamed.  
  
“ _Knulla mig! Knulla mig!_ ”  
  
Her breasts bounce as she angles her head upwards, exposing her throat, and you take the offering, bringing your lips to bear on her neck, sucking, licking, kissing wherever you can. Brigitte's throat bobs beneath you and you only now understand that she's cumming, writhing and spasming against you and on your dick, squirting liquid onto your digit on her clit. It's more than you can bear. You never want to stop, but the pressure, the heat, the slickness is too much.   
  
You're thrusting into Brigitte faster now, pounding her into the floor, laying into her with all the weight you can muster even as she tightens up on you. You can't hold back. Muffling your cry into the smooth skin of her clavicle, you fall forward, feeling her breasts pillow up beneath you, nipples hard and unyielding, as you cum. You try to pull out, but Brigitte’s legs pull you back as she cries out and continues cumming and gripping onto your dick, pulling your load out through your balls, and before you can question her it’s done.  
  
You clench up, nuts resting against her buttocks, feeling the heat and pressure dissipate into her with force. You're firing your cream into Brigitte, true. But this is more than merely a creampie, a sowing of your seed, a chance to fill her up with all the load you can blast into her fertile womb. You're connecting with her, body and soul, feeling every nuance of her body in her twitches against your skin, her breath on your ear, the blood pumping in her veins.  
  
The fact that you might be putting a baby in Brigitte certainly contributes to your feeling of unifying with her. Even as you cum, the thought sticks in your mind. What would be so wrong about that? That this union happens as you fill Brigitte up with your considerable nut doesn't take away from its significance: the physical consummation of your relationship making your emotional investment in her, and hers in you, all the sweeter.  
  
You love her, and there's no better way to express that than what you just did, to pound her with everything you've got, wrapping her around your dick until she cums on it and then pumping her full of your own load.   
  
And if that results in a family...well, then, you can’t possibly think of a better mother for your child than strong, hot, sweaty, brilliant Brigitte Lindholm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna take a break from this story for just a bit to work on one more personal project and then return to commissions. Expect a bit of a longer wait for chapter 4.


	4. Putting the Past Behind You (Reaper/Soldier:76)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately following his miraculous reunion with Ana, and the less-miraculous reunion with Gabriel Reyes, Jack Morrison is left with his wounds to ponder what he had with the former Blackwatch Commander.
> 
>  
> 
> (M/M, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Angst.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is back, for a bit! Wanted to try my hand at m/m again and thought this was a great pairing to do it with!

  
So it _was_ Reyes. Jack had assumed that his old friend had died in the blast that brought Overwatch tumbling down in more ways than one. He’d even hoped it, just a bit, if only so that the commander could have been spared the view Jack had gotten of Overwatch’s dissolution, the dismemberment of its branches and structure by an ungrateful world that thought it knew better.  
  
Perhaps they had been right, but that didn’t lessen the blow any more. And now, Jack had to face the very uncomfortable truth: Reyes was alive, and a lot less handsome than he’d been before. The lips Jack used to steal kisses from, the cheeks he’d run his fingers over once in a blue moon, stroking that lovely, tan skin...they were gone, and he didn't want to linger on what he'd seen in their place. In spite of the horror of Gabriel’s new face, Jack found his memories of the times he’d touched Reyes before everything had gone to hell...enticing, and was starting to react accordingly.  
  
Dammit. Now wasn’t the time for an erection. His dick wouldn’t listen, but his bigger head knew better. There was too much at stake. Reyes was working to undo everything Overwatch had all accomplished. Jack couldn’t reason why, and almost didn’t want to, but the possibilities sifted in and out of his mind.  
  
Jealousy? Unlikely. Reyes was hotheaded, but only in the moment. When the action had passed, he returned to his senses. There was no way he’d carry a grudge so long, even if there had been some persisting bad feeling about Jack's elevated role in the organization.  
  
Nihilism? A little more likely, but Jack couldn’t make that assumption with as many gaps in information as he had. Plus, Reyes wasn't the type to see the whole world burn for the heck of it, and without understanding his motive, Jack wasn't willing to venture too far out following that particular theory  
  
Could it be possible that he was brainwashed? No, the man he’d fought hadn’t had the look and feel of someone under any controlling influences, at least of the sort that exerted direct command over the mind and body.  
  
Had he been a plant, a traitor all this time, from the beginning? Had he been turned later? Either was a possibility. After all, it had happened with Amélie Lacroix. And if he was compromising the organization, that might have played a role in Overwatch's downfall...  
  
But no matter what Jack thought, he couldn’t come up with an explanation that made sense. Perhaps he wasn’t able to focus, injured as he was. Or, more likely, he was too damn horny. He tried to shake off the arousal, but the stiffness wouldn’t be swayed, and the material covering his crotch continued to stretch and tent around his covered erection. Dammit. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, not after finding out that Reyes was alive and in league with the enemy. Not after he’d found out that Ana was fine, in a manner of speaking, after all these years. Few times were more inappropriate for getting an erection than a sudden reunion with his closest partners.  
  
But these were unusual times. And one of them wasn’t his ally anymore. That didn’t make his memories of Reyes any easier to deal with.  
  
_“Good set, Jack.”_  
  
_Reyes flashed a smile down at the Strike-Commander, who paused to wipe some sweat from his brow with his shirt, which only spread it around elsewhere on his face, given that his clothing was also soaked with it. Grunting, he sat upright on the bench press and gave a ‘thumbs up’._  
  
_Their theatres of operation didn’t oversect as much anymore as they had in Overwatch’s early days, so they took the time together when they could. Working out offered an excellent opportunity for them to take stock of each other’s abilities._  
  
_And the view of each other wasn’t bad, either._  
  
_“Thanks,” Morrison gasped, untwisting his bottle to gulp down the water inside. Plain tap liquid, but with his aching arms and heaving chest, taut with effort and sticky with sweat, it was the sweetest nectar he could ever imagined. “You need this now?”_  
  
_“Nah. You know,” Reyes began, scratching his goatee, “I’ve been wondering something.”_  
  
_“Yeah?”_  
  
_“I was looking over the after-action reports of the mission in Zimbabwe, and I noticed a little something you had some say in that I wanted to discuss.”_  
  
_“So discuss it. What’s up?” Jack huffed and took another draught of the water. God, he was thirsty._  
  
_“Nah, it’s a little on the ‘need-to-know’ basis. Meet me in my office?” Reyes’s smile extended into an unmistakably confident smirk. Jack knew what it meant. This wouldn’t have been the first time._  
  
_He winked back at the Blackwatch Commander, blowing some hair out of his face. “You got it.” Just because he was well aware of what, exactly, Reyes intended didn’t mean he’d ever say no._  
  
Fuck. Now he was _really_ hard, even more than before. Ana had been gone when he’d woken up—he _still_ couldn’t believe she’d had the audacity to drug him—but he had no idea when she’d be back. Would it be worse for her to walk in on him beating off, or for him to suffer through an unattended erection?  
  
His pants were unbuckled before he could even finish the thought. A few grunts and pulls on his clothes, and his cock was out, turgid and throbbing, a pearl of precum already glistening at the tip. The silver tuft of his pubic hair seemed like an all-too important reminder that he wasn’t the same man he’d been back then, blonde and full of promise, his whole life ahead of him. Or at least with a few decades yet to go.  
  
His hand protested as he wrapped his fingers around his dick, standing with the makeshift bed behind him. Hopefully that was just the stubborn gunshot wound, rather than any kind of deeper degradation. He was old, dammit, but not _that_ old.  
  
Shit, he couldn’t focus on that. He needed to go back, back to the past. Strike-Commander Jack…  
  
_He fell against the wall, Gabriel crowding over and against him, hard and unyielding in every way. Jack took the measure of his size with a questing drag of his nails along Gabriel’s chest, feeling the muscle beneath. But he did not let himself be cowed, and Gabriel had no interest in making him feel intimidated, bringing his mouth down to kiss Jack._  
  
_The Strike-Commander took the chance to bite at his partner’s lower lip, and a satisfying rumble rolled up from the other man’s throat. Broad hands tugged at the bottom of Jack’s shirt until it was pulled up and off, the muscles of his chest fuzzy with blonde, untrimmed hair. Gabriel lowered his head, licking at Jack’s pectorals, trailing down to his abdomen, sucking and nipping at the skin, leaving hickies, small teeth marks and trails of saliva as he went. When Gabriel’s mouth reached Jack’s waistband, he paused, looking up, chin and cheeks red from his kissing and tonguing. Jack nodded._  
  
_He took Jack in his mouth, his tongue swirling and flicking at the cock now occupying his lips, wasting little time on licking and teasing. They both knew that if Gabriel was sucking Jack’s dick, it was only in preparation for something else. Jack had done it to Gabriel before, too. He knew he wouldn’t cum, but feeling Gabriel’s strong grip on his thighs as he swallowed Jack’s dick was still fucking amazing, nearly as enticing as the heat and pressure Gabriel was bringing to bear on Jack’s shaft. He almost wanted to grab his partner by the shoulders or head and fuck his face, letting Reyes gag and choke on his cock until he came down his throat. But Jack wasn’t nearly selfish enough to lose self-control like that._  
  
_So instead, when Gabriel finally stopping gulping down his cock and came off with a gasp, breathing heavily onto his dick, Jack pulled him up and returned the favor, feathering kisses down Gabriel’s shirt until his nose bumped into a dark, erect cock. Evidently, Reyes had been taking a hand to himself while he’d been blowing Jack, and the latter hadn’t even noticed. That spoke more to Jack’s lack of focus than Reyes’s stealth, anyway._  
  
_Still, it was a hell of a thing, blowing Gabriel Reyes. His rod was just a tad thicker than his own, though it wasn’t quite as long. It filled out Jack’s throat nicely, complementing the view he got above him of Gabriel straining and gasping, trying to hold in his orgasm. The nuts pressing against Jack’s chin told a different story: so full, they seemed ready to pop._  
  
_Just a little more, and he could enjoy Gabe flooding his mouth with cum, salty and sticky, clinging to his tongue and cheeks and throat. He only had to keep sucking…_  
  
“Shit.” Back in the present day, Jack stumbled to the side, right hand still furiously beating himself off, gripping and clutching at his cock while he braced himself against the wall with his left hand. He was sure he hadn’t gotten Reyes to blow in his mouth that time, but there had been a few, so he couldn’t be sure.  
  
Whatever the case, the _thought_ was doing things to him. The pressure in his groin was mounting, and it was all he could manage to try to draw it out just a bit longer, to ride that wave before it crashed and wiped him out in the bliss of orgasm…  
  
_He was draping himself over Gabriel now, arms wrapped around the man beneath him. He wasn’t pounding away at him, not really, just gently sliding in and out, sawing his dick back and forth and dragging it all along the inside of Gabe’s ass. It was a bit harder to hit his prostate at this angle, but he’d be damned if he didn’t keep this up, considering much easier it was to reach his hand around Gabe’s waist to stroke his length._  
  
_Plus, even if he wouldn’t admit it, sometimes he’d imagine Vincent there, writhing beneath him, pale-skinned instead of dark tan, voice a higher-pitch, less muscular but no less beautiful. Morrison knew it wasn’t healthy, and he tried to let such thoughts fly before they lingered, but the appeal was undeniable._  
  
_Still, Jack didn’t want to imagine a time where he_ wasn’t _banging Reyes, feeling the other man grunt and push back against him, the sweat of their bodies mingling as they grinded and shifted against each other. The slap of Reyes’s ass against Jack’s pelvis, the way their nuts swung against each other whenever he was hilted...there wasn’t anything else like it._  
  
_Reyes could give it as well as he took it, but this wasn’t one of those times. He wouldn’t be plowing into Jack face-to-face until the Strike-Commander cried out and came all over his stomach, face and chest. But Reyes would be quite happy to get his ass filled by Jack when the latter saw fit to pound himself to completion, leaving the Blackwatch Commander’s butt a gooey, sticky, white-painted mess while he shot his own load across the floor._  
  
_Gabriel turned his head back to drag his tongue alongside Jack’s chin, and he couldn’t stop himself from making good on his promise of erupting inside, hand still furiously working at his partner until the other man was cumming into Jack’s fingers._  
  
Jack couldn’t hold it off any longer. Turning around so that his dick was facing the floor, he stroked furiously, his elbow burning in protest, determined to cum. At long last, he came, jetting his load onto the sand in pulses, the dregs of the thick liquid rolling down between his fingers to drip onto the ground below him, frothing in his palm.  
  
He came so hard that he saw stars, blinking phantom confetti out of his eyes. Given his injuries, that probably wasn’t good, and though he’d, unwittingly, had the foresight to not cum all over a bunch of archaeologically valuable hieroglyphics, he’d still cum all over his hand. He might be able to make do with a shirt, or the corner of the blanket, but it’d be hard to disguise this from Ana.  
  
And, above it all, the disquiet of his memory continued to hang over him.  
  
They’d rarely talked afterwards, or even cuddled. Guilt had weighed down his heart, spawned from a myriad of justifications for why he shouldn’t have just fucked or been fucked by his colleague. They had always faded in time for them to bang again, but they obstructed any serious discussion on what was happening. If things hadn’t gone pear-shaped, would the relationship have been sustainable? He doubted it. Still, it was hard to remember that when Gabriel was wringing Jack out around his dick, or Jack was fucking Gabriel’s face, or when they didn’t have a lot of time and just tried to grind dicks together or watch each other while they masturbated.  
  
The doubts and dodging were Jack’s fault, not Gabe’s, but the latter still shied away from confrontation about this. He had his own family situation to worry about. A double life was impossible, even for a Blackwatch agent. Jack had understood Gabriel’s hesitation, even if it stung the both of them.  
  
But that was in the past. Now, the man he’d used to fuck, occasionally projecting his ex-boyfriend onto, was trying to destabilize the world. More importantly, Reyes was trying to kill him and his old colleagues. Jack couldn’t let that happen, even if it meant ending the life of someone he had once been so close with.  
  
At least he could still jack off to the memories.  
  
“Heh.” He grunted. “‘Jacking off’. God, I’m old."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! This was definitely a challenge to write, took me a few attempts to figure out the dynamic and style I wanted.
> 
> If you liked this, be sure to check out my other works! I'm also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke) and [ Hentai Foundry](http://www.hentai-foundry.com/user/Lewdsmokesoldier/profile).


	5. Keepsake (Genji/Mercy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela’s a busy woman. She relishes every chance she has to be with Genji, but sometimes the time away can be too much for them to handle, especially for a man with his rapacious sexual appetite. Fortunately, Angela’s willing to send him some “visual prompts” to keep him satisfied while they’re apart.
> 
> (Mercy/Genji, masturbation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is meant to be seen as taking place after [All My Loving](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19203193), if the material doesn't make it obvious enough. 
> 
> I was going to do this anyway, but [Fritz](https://twitter.com/Fritz3D?lang=en) came out with a [rather titillating image](https://twitter.com/Fritz3D/status/1144010578828115970) that perfectly fit the idea I already had in mind, so here's another chance to give them some love if 
> 
> I'm also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke), so come say hello!

Genji’s erection wouldn’t go down.

To be fair, he hadn’t exactly been trying very hard to stop from getting worked up. When meditation ended and his Master didn’t have immediate need of him, he often found his thoughts wandering. Sometimes, they lingered on the fractured state of the world, on the lives of his fellow Overwatch agents, on the way he’d gotten a little _too_ into that one discussion with the monastery archivist about whether or not early 21st-century anime was still relevant (it was) or whether it was worthy of being investigated to see if it might provide insight into the Iris (it was).

But often, his musings returned to Angela. On where she was, what she might be doing, _how_ she might be doing. He knew he shouldn’t worry overmuch, as she was more than capable of taking care of herself and fussing would only lewd to her worrying, but he sometimes couldn’t help it. Especially when he began remembering some...less wholesome elements to their relationship.

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to characterize it that way, since there was little in the world more worthy of veneration than love. How it was expressed was a different matter entirely, for love drove people on to deeds both great and foolish, both healthy and destructive. But it wasn’t that case with Genji who, once so careless with his affections, was now devoted to the woman who’d captured his heart. The fact that she had remarkable control over his dick was a pleasant side-effect, and part of his immediate dilemma.

Put simply, Genji was in the mood to fuck. Angela was the only person he _would_ fuck, and wasn’t anywhere near him to _be_ fucked. She’d gone off to some medical conference in Peru, thankfully a less chaotic venture than her humanitarian work, but it still meant she was half a world away. Genji was not a needy man. Their relationship was based on mutual reciprocity and he respected Angela’s independence enough to not hold her back from what she wished to do, or felt like she _had_ to do. And he had ways around the issue, after all.

They’d exchanged salacious letters in the past when they were far apart, often with increasing intensity and boldness that rose, swelled, crescendoed and relaxed in a pattern that very much resembled the dynamic of an orgasm. Unsurprising, given that by the end of each such set of correspondence they were generally masturbating as they wrote to each other, informing their counterpart how strongly they were enjoying themselves thanks to the lewd words on the paper. Sometimes, they hazarded to send pictures, though this was rarer—both out of care to avoid the possibility that such images might fall into unscrupulous hands (Zenyatta sometimes rifled through Genji’s mail, to the student’s annoyance and the monk's amused satisfaction) and to allow the separation from seeing each other’s naked visage to build so that, when they _did_ reunite, they could take their time exploring each other again.

But there were occasions when they couldn’t hold back. Every topless image Angela sent, every dick pic Genji gifted her, provoked an even more furious round of self-pleasure which was in due course relayed to the sender along with thanks for the excellent climax. At that point, a lull would general settle over their communications, before inevitably starting again. 

Who said that monogamous, faithful, long-distance relationships couldn’t be fun? Not Angela, and certainly not Genji. Which was why he wasn’t altogether worried about this particular rousing of his libido. Angela expected a diminished ability to send and receive letters during the conference, so they’d planned ahead with a special dispensation. Namely, that he would give her an image and a note to keep her “occupied”, and she would do the same for him. He knew quite well how much she enjoyed upward angled-shots, as if she were kneeling below him and looking above at his exposed dick, hefty balls, and self-confident smile. The prime position to worship every inch of his manhood, and an image that would doubtlessly entertain her when she had time to herself.

He had no idea if she’d touched her gift, or rather herself, by this point. But he had yet to see what she’d given to him, and there was no better time than the present to find out what it was.

He shuttered the door to his chamber, unhooking his mask and unlatching the clamps that held his crotch-plate in place. The gift, packaged in unadorned brown paper and labeled “Genji”, awaited him on his dresser, and he unbuttoned his suit lining as he stepped towards it. With a sigh, he watched his thick cock slip out from between the gap, his nuts held back by another button until he undid that one too and they flopped out alongside his length. Rapidly hardening in anticipation of what he would see, Genji reached a hand out towards the present, hooking his finger under the seal and pulling back to let the note out of its container.

Genji had expected a letter, or perhaps a separate piece of paper with whatever image he’d been given attached. Instead, all that he found was the image itself, the sight of which forced him to pause and gape.

Angela was utterly, completely, _gloriously_ naked, seated on the edge of a grey, smooth surface, either a table or a chair. The specifics of the setting didn’t concern him: he was rather more engrossed by her full, round rear, the twin globes framing her ass and smooth, delectably accommodating pussy lips. He’d enjoyed enough of both holes, whether he was atop her and slowly spreading apart her butt on his dick or pounding furiously away at her folds from behind or anything in between, to know that they were _exactly_ as tight and warm as they looked. Her soft thighs urged him to grab them and sink his fingers into the skin just as strongly as if they were right in front of him, reminding him of just how many times such a hold had been a prelude to greater pleasures. So too did the sight of her breasts, tight and delicate, bring to mind how they swayed and dripped with sweat when they were really going at each other. 

But her posture and expression truly elevated her present to him from a mere pinup to something far more enthralling. Her left hand rested just above her rear and her head was turned to the camera, her fingers gliding over the skin without pressing into it. If he didn’t know her as well as he did, he’d say that she was frowning, but he recognized that look. Angela wasn’t upset, at least not with him: rather, she was _begging_. The slight downturn of her mouth wasn’t a communication of sadness, it was the shape her lips took just before she pleaded for his cock when she was on her knees, when she entreated him to “put it in already” if he dawdled in teasing her with the head of his cock at her folds or rear. Even her furrowed brow told Genji that she was focusing more on taking on a pitiful, heart-and-dick-wrenching demeanor rather than anything resembling true sadness.

If that was her intent, then it worked more than she could have ever hoped. He could barely focus on perusing the message she’d left. It wasn’t much, not the long-winded string of teases and lascivious teasing that he’d expected. But it was all the better for its simplicity.

_I miss you, Genji._

_-Angela_

It wasn’t a long message, but it captured his attention and fired his imagination in its ambiguity far more than he’d expected. He slapped the letter onto the furniture he’d found it on, keeping his gaze locked on it, breath already shallow even though he’d just barely started, and he was stroking his cock with one hand and folding his balls with the other. The sensation of his smooth, metallic fingers on his dick wasn’t in any way similar to hers or even to his one still-organic hand, but it provided an enjoyable friction nonetheless and there was absolutely no way he’d stop now to take off that part of his exoskeleton. 

Genji clenched his jaw, rolling his nuts between the fingers on his robotic right hand, carefully applying pressure on and between the orbs, cock jumping and twitching each time his hands slid against each other, leaving a vibration that rolled up through his digits onto his length. He leaned forward, resting his head against a beam and raising himself up onto his toes, still staring at the picture of Angela.

Her words brought to mind all the times they’d previously exchanged lewd letters, all the promises that they’d fulfilled to properly show reverence to the other’s form when next they met. In spirit his picture could do to her what hers was doing to him, to allow her mind to sink back into the memories of grinding bodies and desperately chased pleasure and of being undone, of him cumming into and onto her in every way he could. Genji was already awash in the fantasy of what Angela would do when she came back from the conference, his mind transforming the hand jerking his dick and the fingers gripping on his scrotum into whatever sensations most matched his imagination.

Of how Angela would fall to her knees and welcome how he smacked her across the cheeks with his cock so hard that her cheeks would be left red and sticky and she’d be panting and cock-drunk, eager to swallow his length.

Of how she’d bury her face into his nuts, sucking and licking and kissing and paying tribute to that most magnificent ballsack, the source of the cum that she could never get enough of. 

Of how she’d grind her crotch against his face as he licked her quivering folds and ate up her orgasm with a smile.

Of how she’d turn the tables and push him onto his back, spearing herself on his dick and riding him into the floor, the mattress, wherever she could get her hands on him.

Of how Genji would erupt, filling her up with all of the hot, gooey spunk she’d been dreaming of getting, his dick twitching and his balls tensing as his cream coated her cunt.

He was already feeling the pressure build, the tension growing in his crotch at the flurry of movement from his hands and the thoughts trapping his mind. He wasn’t concerned at his lack of stamina. After all, how could anyone expect him to endure this for long, the promise of doing whatever he wanted to Angela when they reunited and finding out what she would want to do with him? No one would find fault with his eagerness to peak, though no one would know that he was doing it to judge him anyway.

And so, without shame or restraint, Genji turned his cock towards the center of the room, released his grip, and came. The load he’d been envisioning shooting into Angela fired out onto the wooden floorboards, long, thick streaks of cum lancing across the planks as his shoulders shook and his legs quivered from the effort of working his length and erupting so spectacularly. He could barely remain standing, but had the presence of mind to thrust out his crotch while cumming to avoid getting any on his suit. He was rewarded with a fresh wave of hot, tight pleasure, his nutsack swaying in time with the pulses of his cumshot as he spent his seed all over the floor.

As the rush of bliss faded, an aching made itself known in his arms, the product of such a furious, high-energy masturbation session. Genji let out a sigh of relief, his heartbeat slowing and breathing returning to normal, and glanced back at the image of Angela on his dresser.

When he saw her again, he would have to be sure to show her just how much he had appreciated it.


	6. Widow Best Girl (Widowmaker/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re an excellent Widowmaker player, and perhaps her biggest...admirer. So it’s only fitting that she’d reward you by giving you what you’ve wanted for so long: herself. It doesn’t matter that she’s a video game character, dammit. You’re going to make this work.
> 
> (Reader with a penis/Widowmaker, silliness and perspective play a bit, dirty talking)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's my first time doing a meta-story. Woo! This was a little gift for [Fritz](https://twitter.com/fritz3d), who's hornier for Widowmaker than anyone else I know.

Her interest was piqued the first time she noticed you position the camera to zoom in on her ass. 

Widowmaker dealt with that a lot: of the who-knows-how-many players who chose her every day, often to the loud protests of their teammates, countless numbers of them tried to sneak glances at her butt while they waited for the game to start.

To be fair, she knew she had a fantastic ass, round and full and accentuated by the absolute stranglehold her suit had on her skin. The violet material clung to her hips and thighs, stretching taut across her rear such that it almost creased where her asscheeks came up to her back. If she sweated and breathed as much as most humans did, it’d be intolerably tight and stifling, but Widowmaker didn’t mind. 

Many of them restricted themselves catching glimpses and then looking away in shame, as if a video game character might notice their wandering eyes and chastise them severely for it. Of course, she _could_ notice it, even if she chose not to react. But you were different. Instead of hurriedly getting a look at how her ass stretched out her suit when she bent forward with her “Curtain Call” emote, you openly oogled, missing the start of the match to let your focus stay on her perfectly formed rear. She wanted to write you off as another hopeless admirer, but your tenacity was endearing...and arousing. Widowmaker was already used to being tossed about without control, what with being playable, but to be so made the focus of such pure adulation was gratifying.

And a tiny part of Widowmaker liked the objectification, the idea of being appreciated for the lewd angles the game provided for you to stare at her tits and ass and pretty, sharp face. Of being little more than a doll to dress up in skimpy outfits, a prop to be posed and stared at.

Widowmaker also loved how she became, when you thought she wasn’t looking, a motivation to jerk your cock and cum while imagining her in dirty situations. 

How she drove you to masturbate while watching animations using voice lines ripped from the game and cinematics, or with actresses that sounded just like the real thing, or random moans and grunts that didn’t sound a whit like Widowmaker thanks to being lifted from unrelated pornography. 

How she pushed you to stroke your dick while you looked at drawn or modeled images showing her in a wide variety of naughty poses, positions and pairings.

How she urged you pump your shaft while reading written smut detailing her assorted sexual exploits. 

How she inspired you to start making content of your own, until you were crafting models and positioning scenes with her to your cock’s delight.

Well, Widowmaker was done being watched from a distance, appreciated without being truly engaged with. She’d been a toy for many, but _you_ were special. Sure, lots of players had all her skins and sprays and emotes and such, and her golden gun to boot. But the moment when _you_   got her golden gun and started popping off heads like you’d won a Counter-Strike world championship was the moment that Widowmaker knew she had to do something about you. 

Or, rather, do something _to_ you.

It hadn’t been easy, but after a particularly amazing Play of the Game, she was here now, draping herself over you as you sit in your chair, astonished and baffled that the woman of your dreams was now sitting in your lap. Her hands are on your shoulders, her blue lips hovering above yours until she leans in to kiss you. Her suit’s ripped just the way it is in the animations and how it will be when your friend finally finishes that new model of her so you can do _whatever_ you want to Widowmaker. Right now, that means that her perky blue tits are exposed, nipples stiffened and prodding your chest while her crotch and butt are similarly left in the open. She’d caught you at a good time: you were just as functionally nude as she was, with your dick in the open and your shirt off.

She’s grinding against you, her pussy cool and wet against your erection, her kiss leaving a delightful shiver rolling down your spine. Widowmaker’s almost too cold, but you’re still hard and your arousal isn’t going anywhere. You’re longing to see her famous ass, but it’s too much fun to feel her against you like this, her folds kissing your cockhead as she raises her hips and comes down onto you.

You’re surrounded by sopping tightness, a bit warmer than her skin but nowhere near the heat that you might have expected. It hardly matters: the fact that _Widowmaker herself_ is sinking down onto your dick is enough to drive you wild. It isn’t long before she’s bouncing on your cock, creaking your chair as your thighs meet with a slapping sound, the pressure coming on and off with the movements of her tunnel on and around your dick. Your balls are clapping down against the seat but you ignore the discomfort, too focused on how she’s milking your cock and driving those very same nuts—the ones that are currently protesting the force being exerted on them—to cum. They tighten and tense, and you refuse to break the kiss as she mashes her lips against your and presses her tits against you, stopping their swaying movement as her nipples prod your skin.

When you cum, it’s _far_ better than all the times you’ve masturbated to Widowmaker. You nearly sob from the force bearing down on your dick, on the pressure of the eruption of your cream as you fill her with your load. There’s a surge of heat as your jerking, twitching dick paints her cold, purple cunt white with warm, sticky spunk, and she moans into your mouth, her facade of ice momentarily broken as the rush of heat drives her to her own peak. The undulations and gripping motions on your still-cumming cock spur you on to a few more spurts, and when you finally find you can’t manage any more she falls back, still speared on your shaft. 

Arms trembling and chest heaving, you sit still as she recovers herself and lifts herself off your dick, your creampie leaking out of her onto your pelvis when you separate. She smiles coyly and kisses you on your nose before turning around, revealing the true prize at last: her ass.

In the real world, Widowmaker’s butt is even more alluring, round and soft-looking and tempting you to reach out to touch it. So you do, and find that it’s even more engrossingly squishy than you could have imagined. Some part of you wonders how this happened, how a video game character just rode you till you filled her with your spunk, but the rest of you doesn’t care so long as it happens again.

And sure enough, when she feels your hand on her rear, Widowmaker moves hers to spread her cheeks, exposing her cum-filled cunt...and the puckered star of her asshole. You gape and skip a breath, not daring to hope that she’s _actually_ offering up her butt for you to use. That would be...no, she couldn’t. Could she?

Sure enough, when she feels you tense, she grunts and begins to slide backwards, the shining, cum-glazed head of your dick prodding the entrance. Another little shove, and she’s in, and you know you’ll never be happier than when you first fucked Widowmaker’s ass. 

It’s tight, almost unbearably so, but slick and just as cool as her pussy and it’s _already_ driving you wild with the possibilities. The progress of her sinking back on your cock is slow, but you know that it’ll be worth it when you’re buried in her to the root, your balls clapping against her cunt lips. When you are, you find that you were exactly right, and that your dick’s being subjected to the most remarkable vice grip that she could possibly bring to bear on you.

And then Widowmaker tightens up even more. You cry out, she chuckles, and then she’s rising off of you only to fall down before you’re even halfway out of her, your dick grinding and rubbing all around inside her, prodding the deepest recesses of her ass. She rides you with the grace of a gymnast, notwithstanding your thick cock in her ass, bracing herself with her hands against the armrest of your chair as she moves. She’s not showing any sign that it’s difficult for her, only turning her head back every few bounces to wink at you and moan encouragingly, which only drives you closer to the edge. You worry that you’re not going to last much longer, and consider asking her to slow down when it occurs to you that maybe, just maybe, that’s her goal. She _wants_ to drive you to completion as soon as possible...so you can start again somewhere else. Or perhaps just to assert her own power, after being under yours for so long.

Whatever her reasoning, you obey her order and cum, splattering her ass with goey, sticky, hot spunk, feeling it fill her rear until it’s practically overflowing with it. You can’t even tell if she came from it, but that seems besides the point: Widowmaker got her intent across, and seems happy enough with that.

Widowmaker steps up and off your dick, leaking cum from both her cunt and butt, and turns again to grab your chin, pulling you into a kiss. The aches of your thighs and the shortness of your breath fade away as puts her mouth to yours, her free hand reaching towards your soaked, somehow still-hard dick, rolling the tip under her thumb when she touches it.

You have no idea how Widowmaker came into the real world. But as long as she’s here, you’re going to fuck her over and over, as long as you can, and never stop until neither of you can possibly continue anymore. She'll be your dicksleeve, your cock-socket and fuckslave, taking your loads on her skin and in her holes until you're both satisfied and then doing it all over again.

Because that’s what the best girl deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hon hon hon. Check out my [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke) and [ Hentai Foundry](http://www.hentai-foundry.com/user/Lewdsmokesoldier/profile) for more blueberry bitchbreaking!


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